


Water

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [25]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Car Wreck, F/M, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, M/M, Near-Death Experience, Wiccan Practioner, paranormal activity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch and Reid discover that their house is haunted.  Reid consults Garcia’s psychic friend.  Hotch confronts the vengeful spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was nice to get an easy case for a change.

Ahead of Hotch and Morgan on the highway was the SUV carrying Prentiss, Reid, the sheriff from Little Eagle, South Dakota, and the non-custodial mother they had arrested in connection with the disappearance of the daughter she shared with her estranged husband. The team had tracked the mother to Pierre, but they were bringing her back to Little Eagle, because her mother, the girl’s grandmother, still resided in the small town. That was where the team hoped she had hidden her daughter.

Everything about Beverly Campbell's profile had been right so far. She had come along quietly. She had been cooperative when Reid questioned her about her daughter Tommie and the messy separation from her husband. She had told the team that she would take them to where her daughter was hidden. She had been so cooperative that the sheriff hadn’t even handcuffed her. They were old friends, and they had known each other most of their lives.

Hotch and Morgan followed in the second vehicle, talking quietly about how it was nice to have an easy case for a change. Then they had started talking about a conversation that Garcia had had with Morgan about Reid, one that Derek felt Hotch needed to know about. Hotch had glanced to the right off and on in order to respond to Morgan’s comments.

“Reid told Garcia what?”

“That he thinks the house really is haunted.” 

“Oh, no. Seriously?” Hotch chuckled.

“Yes. He told her he’s felt spirits there. More than one. Two at least.” Hotch shook his head and sighed.

“What did Garcia say?” Aaron asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Morgan, you know how fond I am of Garcia, but there are times when….” 

“Yeah, I know,” Derek nodded.

“So did she tell Reid to perform an exorcism, or wave smudge sticks around, or what?” Hotch smiled. “What happened?”

“Reid told Penelope that he told one of the spirits it was welcome to stay, but the other had to leave, because it felt evil to him.”

Hotch chuckled. “How does an atheist scientist get himself into these messes?”

“The problem is, both spirits have stayed,” Derek explained. “Or at least that’s what Reid told Garcia.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem with the spirit world. They can be so uncooperative,” Aaron joked.

“Another problem is that now that Reid has opened this door, he hasn’t been able to close it,” Morgan went on.

“You don’t believe this, do you? It’s all bullshit,” Hotch muttered. “For a genius, Reid can be amazingly stupid and susceptible sometimes.”

“Hotch!!”

Aaron saw the absolute horror flood over Derek’s face. Hotch jerked his eyes forward once more. He watched in stunned disbelief as the SUV in front of him took a severe right turn, snapped through the guard rail like it was made of balsam wood, and plunged down into the river below. It happened just that quickly—from Derek’s look of horror to the brakes to the terrifying plunge.

Hotch expected something awfully big and dangerous to be coming down the bridge to have caused the SUV to swerve so suddenly. He jerked and pulled his own vehicle to a stop, nearly falling through the gigantic, jagged hole that the first SUV had made. He gaped ahead. There was no danger coming towards them on the bridge.

The thoughts connected in his head that someone in the vehicle had to have grabbed the wheel, pulled the SUV off course, and plunged it purposefully through the railing and into the water. There was no other reason. He was angry. He was terrified. He was horrified.

This was supposed to be a simple arrest. The sheriff had known the mother for twenty-five years. They had gone to school together. She wasn’t a violent person. He had held the vehicle door open for her, and let her sit in the front passenger seat so she could give him directions to where her daughter was. She must have been the one to have grabbed the wheel from his hands and jerked the vehicle over the side of the bridge.

Morgan was out of Hotch’s vehicle before they came to a complete stop. He was shedding his jacket and shoes. Morgan clearly intended to throw himself down into the water. Hotch threw the SUV in park and opened his door as well, intent on following Morgan into the water.

The car door was jerked painfully and unexpectedly out of his hand by the third SUV in their group.

JJ screamed, slammed on the brakes, and headed for the same guard rail. She scraped along with the shriek of metal on metal for twenty feet before she could stop. The third SUV came to rest in such a way that Rossi was not going to be able to get out of the vehicle without sliding left across the passenger seat and then exiting through the driver’s door. Any other time, Hotch might have been privately amused by Rossi’s predicament. But there wasn’t time for Hotch to be amused. He turned to watch as his mangled door bounced away across the deck of the bridge, making cars in two other lanes swerve to avoid either hitting the door or each other. When had this case turned into a Michael Bey movie?

Morgan was through the hole in the guardrail and down in the water. The sound of splashing shook Hotch back to reality. JJ stopped, threw open her door, and raced back towards Hotch. Her face was livid with shock and emotional pain. The horror of watching the SUV go over the bridge was one thing, but the idea that she might have also injured Hotch was too horrible an idea to bear.

Hotch didn’t know what to do first. He glanced down, made sure he still had his left arm and his hand (both were miraculously unscathed). He leapt out of the vehicle, pulling off his jacket as he ran towards the spot where the first SUV had vanished. JJ hadn’t reached him before he reached the broken guard rail. He waved to her once or twice to make sure she knew he was not hurt, and then he leapt down into the water. JJ howled his name from the bridge deck.

“HOTCH, GODDAMN IT, WAIT!” JJ howled.

Hotch heard screaming below as he was falling downward. Morgan had already dragged one person out of the submerged SUV. It was Prentiss, and she was fighting him every step of the way.

Hotch hit the water like smacking into solid ground. It was so unpleasantly cold that his heart jerked in his chest at the chill. He heard the argument between Morgan and Prentiss as he resurfaced for a deep breath.

“Get up here and STAY UP HERE!” Morgan screamed at Emily. He pushed her towards the shore before going under again.

“REID!” Prentiss screamed in reply. Morgan was already gone. Emily had blood on her face. She brushed it impatiently away, perhaps thinking it was only water. She kicked off her shoes, pulled off her jacket, and went back under the surface.

Hotch went under the surface too. He could see the SUV was down in thirty feet of water. This was a swift-running river, and the water was relatively-clear. The windshield was smashed, covered with gore. The front wheels were still spinning.

Morgan was jerking on the rear left passenger door, but it wasn’t coming open. Reid was visible inside. Hotch felt his heart quaking with fear. Reid’s eyes were closed, his head was tilted back, and his hair was haloing around his face. His arms were floating up at an odd angle because of the way in which the SUV had landed, three-quarters flipped over and listing hard. It was balanced on its nose and not steady at all.

Prentiss pulled open the front driver’s door and yanked the lifeless sheriff out of his seatbelt. He billowed clouds of red and was losing bits of flesh from his wounds. Portions of his skull were visible. Prentiss pushed him up towards the surface, and totally forgot about him as she went back inside the unstable vehicle. Hotch could not disagree with her logic – the man was dead, but Reid might still be alive, so it made sense for Prentiss to forget the sheriff as soon as she had determined she could do nothing for him.

Morgan had tried to grab at Prentiss’s foot, but she kicked his hand away. Hotch grab at the sheriff’s body as he floated up and past, but the swift current grabbed the body and yanked him far out of Hotch’s reach.

Hotch swam towards the submerged vehicle. He could see Prentiss inside the SUV, unbuckling Reid. She turned around and kicked bare feet against the loose door on the other side, the one she had emerged from before with Morgan’s help. The door came open, falling down and backwards. Hotch hurried towards the swinging portal and helped Prentiss maneuver Reid’s unconscious form so they could pull him out.

Morgan moved to work on the front passenger door in order to free the suspect, who was stuck in her seatbelt and was determined to stay there. She wasn’t trying to get out – she was trying to keep Morgan from opening her door.

Hotch didn’t care about the suspect at the moment. All Hotch could think about was how doll-like and motionless Reid was. Aaron had no idea wet wool could be so heavy. Prentiss was stripping off Reid’s bag and his jacket. She let the current grab the heavy coat (an offering to the water spirits) but she kept his satchel locked around her own shoulders. No one knew what mysteries lurked in Reid's light brown leather bag, but they knew he guarded it like nothing else.

It took both Hotch and Prentiss to pull Reid up from the bottom. They broke the surface of the water and moved towards the shoreline, fighting the current every inch of the way. Emily and Aaron breathed like they hadn’t tasted air in a century. Reid remained motionless, bobbing along wherever they pulled him. The water was tugging at him. One of his shoes came off and was pulled away, tumbling over and over itself before vanishing below.

The bridge had been transformed into a swimming sea of red and blue lights. It was literally packed with emergency vehicles. JJ was waving at them, now running for the shore. Rossi followed behind her. How long had the team been underwater? Hotch was already calculating time fractions. How much time did they have? Have much time did Reid have? How long had he not been breathing?

Emergency personnel were moving along the shore, splashing into the water to retrieve the sheriff’s body before he was carried entirely away. Below water he had been billowing clouds of red. Above water, his face was smashed and hanging in pieces. He must have impacted with the windshield and the guard rail as the SUV had gone over.

Prentiss inhaled again and dropped Reid’s bag around Hotch’s neck and shoulders. She then vanished back into the water. Her bare feet flipped through the waves, and went under behind her.

Hotch held Reid above the water, screaming his name as he hauled Spencer towards the shore. There was no response. Reid lolled against Hotch, eyes closed, unmoving. He was not visibly hurt like Prentiss had been, or as the sheriff had been, but the impact of the crash had knocked Reid. Hotch cradled Reid’s head, and felt the knot on the left side behind his ear. Had he smacked his head on the vehicle frame with the initial impact?

Morgan and Prentiss came up again. They were dragging the suspect by both arms. She gave an ungodly scream as she surfaced. She was bleeding from her forehead and jaw, and she was violently angry at being saved. She was twisting to get out of their grips.

“Damn you! Let me go!” she shouted. “I want to die!!”

Morgan had had enough. He swiveled around, slapped the suspect hard across the face, and pulled her by her arm and her hair towards the shore. Prentiss followed, looking twice as angry as Morgan did. Had Prentiss even realized she was bleeding yet? A trail of red ran down her face from between her eyes.

Hotch felt solid ground beneath his feet, and he felt Reid being lifted from his arms. Terror roused him from his stupor. He came alive, screaming, pulling back with all his might, afraid the current was going to pull Reid away from him forever. The EMT in the wetsuit put up a calming hand, and Hotch reeled himself in. Together, the two of them dragged Reid up onto the shore, where the EMT set to work on checking Reid’s vitals and starting mouth-to-mouth.

“Possible…..head….injury……” Hotch gasped, panting, dropping to his knees on the shore and keeping a grip on one of Spencer’s long hands.

The EMT turned Reid to the side, and ran fingers through his mouth, down his throat. Spencer came around with a retching sound as he inhaled and exhaled and exhaled again. Frothy water gushed out of his mouth and nose. The EMT repeated the procedure, and Reid expelled more river water. Reid’s frantic fingers bit into Hotch’s hand, and twisted his fingers painfully, but Aaron was never so glad to feel pain in all his life.


	2. Chapter 2

“So much blood from such a tiny hole,” Emily whispered in the quiet of the hospital room. She was touching the five stitches crossed in the middle between her eyebrows, smack dab at the top of the bridge of her nose. She assumed she must have caught a piece of the flying windshield glass right on that spot. On a bright note, the anesthetic the doctor had injected into her forehead was going to smooth that one annoying wrinkle in the middle pretty well for a couple hours.

Prentiss watched Reid sleeping. His hospital bed was tilted up at an angle so any water that might have remained in his system wouldn’t drown him in the night. The doctors had pumped him out pretty thoroughly though. His vitals were stable, and he was going to be okay. The medics had brought him around first on the shore, but he had crashed again unexpectedly. They had brought him around again in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

The greatest concern at this point was secondary drowning, and whether or not he had experienced head trauma or neck trauma from the accident. The lump on his head was cause for concern. He would have to be watched carefully. Reid had been disoriented in the ambulance, but was sleeping at this point.

Prentiss regretted nothing—not the cold water, not the blood, not the stitches, not the stinging burn in both her ankles that reminded her every time she took a step that car window glass could be very durable. There wasn’t enough pain the world to have kept her from going back inside that SUV to save her friend. She hovered at the side of Reid’s bed, caressing his face, toying with his limp hair. She couldn’t imagine the team without him, or Hotch without him either. She knew how much pain she had felt while watching the medics work to resuscitate Spencer. She could only imagine how much pain Hotch had been in too, standing beside helpless and powerless, with Reid's bag slung low over his shoulder.

Prentiss glanced towards the hallway – she could see Hotch walking back and forth. He was pacing, and yelling into his cell phone. He was channeling his hurt and frustration into his work. Morgan was on the other end of the call, Emily knew. She could imagine Derek too, his face scrunched up in response to Hotch’s tone of voice. She closed her eyes and saw Morgan underwater, pulling her door open, helping her out of her seatbelt, dragging her first and foremost towards the surface. That said something powerful about Derek’s feelings for her, didn’t it? She put her hand to her heart, unable to remember the last time she had felt so loved and cherished.

“Broken leg? Good! I hope it hurts! I don’t care if you have to handcuff her to a wheelchair and roll her back out to the bridge. Make her show you where she left Tommie. That’s the only way we’re ever going to find her body,” Hotch was shouting. His stern words made Prentiss want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Prentiss opened her eyes and found that Reid was staring up at her. Spencer was finally awake, but he appeared very puzzled. His eyes were open, but he did not look coherent. Emily hoped he didn’t have another concussion. She knew that when a person had experienced one concussion, the next came easier and easier. Emily bent down and touched a kiss to Reid’s right eyebrow, right on the small scar there. He focused sleepily on her face as she got closer and then moved away again. He attempted to return her smile.

“Tilaka?” he asked, touching her stitches. Emily’s brow furrowed as she wondered what the hell he was talking about.

“What’s your name?”

Reid raised a brow at her, annoyed. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday,” he offered. Emily’s first impulse was to contradict him, but she glanced back at the clock on the wall – it was well past midnight. She turned back around, and found Spencer was smiling smugly at her. There was nothing he liked more than being right.

“Hotch?” Prentiss called out towards the hallway. Aaron flew into the room. 

“Is he awake?” Hotch gasped.

Hotch had a visual confirmation before Prentiss could answer, “Yes.” Reid was moving his limbs around, puzzled by the oddness of waking up here. Hotch rested a hand on Reid’s arm. He kept his voice low, but could not help the venom that poured through him.

“I swear to God, if you didn’t wake up soon, I was going to drag that woman back to the river and hold her under water with my bare hands.”

“What happened?” Spencer whispered in reply, trying to sit up on the side of the bed. Hotch and Prentiss both were poised to catch Reid if he slipped. He held his throbbing head in both hands and swayed. “I feel like someone hit me with a hammer,” he added, putting one long foot on the floor.

“Stay in bed,” Hotch scolded.

“You should take it easy. You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Prentiss joked.

Reid stared strangely at Prentiss, and she gave him a quirky half-smile. He nearly giggled in reply.

“What?”

“You were clinically dead for more than three minutes,” Hotch corrected, not sure what Emily had done to make Reid was smiling so strangely. How could he and Emily joke about this?

“Did you search for loose change?” Reid asked Prentiss, who was suddenly having a hard time not crying. Reid gave a raspy cough as he fingered the short hospital gown he was wearing. It was a good thing that Hotch and Prentiss had both already seen Reid naked, because this gown left positively nothing to the imagination. It was riding up his thighs, and he could feel a breeze down his backside. Reid drew a blanket over his lap and legs, and he blushed from chest to forehead.

“We got your bag for you,” Prentiss said as she pointed to a nearby chair where the bag was leaking dampness everywhere.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Emily said. She wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Don’t you ever die on us again, Spencer Reid. I’ll kill you. I really will.”

Prentiss cleared her throat and dried her face. Reid reached for her hand, clinging to her fingers with one hand while rubbing the middle of his chest with the other hand. Hotch stared pointedly at Prentiss, and there was no mistaking the message in those eyes.

“I’ll….um…I’ll be in the hallway,” Prentiss said, letting go of Reid’s fingers. She shut the door tight behind herself as she left.

“What happened?” Reid asked Hotch.

“Beverly Campbell grabbed the wheel of the SUV and took all of you into the river. You don’t remember?” Hotch murmured to Reid, staring at him so seriously. “You should lie back down. Do you remember the accident?” 

“Accident? What accident?”

“You struck your head. They did x-rays and MRI scans. They want to keep you overnight for observation.”

“There isn’t time for this. We have to go find Tommie. She was taking us to where she had hidden Tommie.”

Spencer shook his head no, staring back in complete disbelief.

“Reid, Beverly confessed. She drowned Tommie yesterday before we had her in custody,” Hotch relayed.

Spencer’s face fell at the news. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, his face contorting with pain and exhaustion.

“But she said….” Reid whined.

“She didn’t want Tommie to go back to her father. She claimed it was because he was abusing her, and she couldn’t bear the idea of Tommie being in pain. So she killed her. Someone explain this to me, because I cannot follow the logic of it. ‘I don’t want you to be in pain, so I’m going to take your life’?” Hotch whispered, shaking his head as he was caressing Reid’s hair.

“But her profile,” Reid moaned.

“It’s not your fault, Spencer. It’s not your fault.”

“But the profile,” Reid squeaked, struggling to catch his breath. 

“Shh. Try to rest,” Hotch soothed.

“I don’t understand,” Reid sniveled.

“There’s nothing to understand,” Hotch answered grimly.

“You have to be wrong. Beverly Campbell is not the type of woman who would kill her child,” Reid protested, coughing through his tears, feeling like he was drowning for the second time that day.

“Clearly she is,” Hotch snapped. Reid froze up, drying his face.

“No,” Reid insisted angrily. “No. She didn’t kill Tommie. She’s hidden her. She wouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t hurt her. You have to be wrong.”

“Reid, let it go. One way or the other, we will find Tommie. You need to lie back and rest. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” Spencer answered distantly.

“Lie back down,” Hotch ordered. “We have this under control.”

Reid quietly obeyed, and Aaron drew the blankets back over his legs, tucked them around his middle, tucked them around his chest.

Hotch grabbed a nearby chair and hauled it over to the side of the bed. He sat down, took Reid’s right hand, and squeezed gently.

“It’s not your fault. Even the best profile can come up short in evaluating what an untested unsub will do in a stressful situation. Gideon always said to expect the unexpected. Let it go and try to rest,” Aaron urged.

Spencer nodded, not sure how much rest he was going to be able to get with the case points whirling around in his head, and with Hotch sitting there staring at him so sadly and intently.

“I’m sorry that I scared you,” Reid whispered softly.

Hotch nodded and turned to study the far wall. He was unable to look in Reid’s soulful eyes. Aaron’s mouth quivered uncomfortably. He stood up, slid his arms around Reid, and buried his nose in the side of Spencer’s neck. Reid drank in the warmth of Aaron’s skin against his, the tickle of his breathing.

Hotch’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket, jarring them both. He pulled up and away, his face red and damp. Hotch turned around so Spencer could not see the tears on his face. Aaron pulled out his phone, scraping a palm over his eyes and cheeks.

“Go ahead,” Hotch murmured, his voice scratchy with emotion. “Okay. I see. She was there after all. Thank you, Morgan. Keep me posted.”

Reid waited anxiously as Hotch faced him again, putting away his phone.

“Morgan found Tommie. She was weighted-down in the river less than a quarter of a mile from where Campbell took the SUV into the water.”

Reid’s face swam with emotion again. “How could I be so stupid?” Reid mourned.

“You didn’t do this, Spencer,” Hotch soothed. “This is not your fault.”


	3. Chapter 3

The misery created by the case in South Dakota followed the team back to Quantico. The flight home was morose and somber indeed. No one wanted to talk. They curled up in their own worlds and wished the pain away. It was so hard to believe that Beverly Campbell had killed Tommie. In handcuffs and leg cast and ankle bracelet, she had led Morgan to where she had left her daughter’s body, submerged near the bridge where she had taken the SUV over. The crew pulling the SUV to the surface helped retrieve the tiny body. Morgan had been the one to deliver the news to the heart-broken father, and JJ had been the one to hold the man as he sobbed for his lost daughter.

Morgan locked himself inside his music, craving the healing that it always brought to him. He closed his eyes, but he did not sleep. All he could see was the little girl, her face serene in spite of the ropes that bound her and the cement blocks stacked on top of her small body. Maybe she had been too young to realize what was happening to her. Could a three year old have understood what was happening? Maybe Beverly had given Tommie something first to make her fall asleep. The team wouldn’t know until the final coroner’s report came back. No matter the test results, it was going to be a long time before Morgan could sleep without seeing Tommie’s corpse in his mind.

Reid laid down full-length across the seats at the rear of the plane, turning his back to everyone. He was mourning the failed profile as if he had been personally responsible for it. He cried soundlessly, feeling empty and alone. He kept seeing Beverly Campbell, her earnest, kind face. How could she have been so deceptive? How could he have missed the clues that were there? How could he have failed so badly in reading Campbell in the interrogation room?

Prentiss and JJ sat close and said nothing at all. JJ gazed at Henry’s picture, and she wondered if she would ever hurt Henry to get back at Will. She couldn’t see herself ever doing that, but it was impossible to say what love or hate would drive a person to do in extreme circumstances. Angry people would go a long way to hurt the ones they used to love, and Beverly Campbell had gone about as far as she could have possibly gone to hurt her estranged husband.

Prentiss flipped through files on her phone, giving a tentative, sad smile that slowly warmed up a fraction or two. JJ leaned over to see what was warming Emily’s face with mirth. Pictures of Sergio bouncing around places in Prentiss’s condo made JJ smile too, and she was able to let go of a small amount of her pain as well.

Dave sat in silence and stared out one of the windows, trying not to be nervous about the weather. There wasn’t any thunder or lightning. It was rain—drenching, dark, and melancholy. Cases like this left Rossi feeling so old and tired. The ocean of memories and emotions over the loss of his own child was drowning him as surely as the river had almost drowned Prentiss and Reid. Having lost a child, having suffered that intense and never-ending pain, made it so hard for Dave to understand how any parent could actually murder their own offspring.

Hotch started his reports for Strauss, as always a slave to his duties, but every few seconds, he would dart his eyes back to where Reid was lying down. Hotch watched Reid’s shoulders tremble, watched him ball up tighter. Aaron eventually got out of his seat and walked back to Reid, who pretended to be asleep. There was a small red dragon in one of Spencer’s long hands. It was smudged with mud from the river, and damp from their little misadventure. Aaron wondered where the plushy had come from. Hotch pulled a blanket from the overhead storage bin and laid it out over Spencer’s form, taking a moment to caress his hair before returning to his reports.

Not only had the rain followed the team home, it continued to mock them at the airstrip as well. It drenched them as they moved from the plane to their cars.

“Mental health days – tomorrow and Friday,” Hotch called out. “I don’t want to see any of you in the office. I mean it. Take a couple days off and rest.”

Morgan nodded his thanks and was the first to leave. He was already on the phone to Garcia as he pulled out of the parking lot, wipers flipping around. Prentiss and JJ both got into JJ’s car and waved their goodbyes to the others. They were gone in Morgan’s wake, Emily talking as JJ drove.

“Get some rest yourself,” Rossi called to Hotch before he climbed into his car and was gone. Rossi followed JJ and Prentiss.

Reid climbed into the passenger seat of Hotch’s SUV and buckled in. He was moving slowly and sleepily. Hotch glanced down at his watch. It was just after midnight. No reason to be tired really. They had only been awake, off and on, since six that morning, in a different time zone to boot. It was noon before Reid was released from the hospital. It was six in the evening before they were all on the plane—seven before they were cleared to take off.

“Would you like some coffee?” Hotch asked Reid, climbing in the SUV and turning over the engine. Spencer didn’t answer. He reached across between the seats and slipped his long fingers into Aaron’s hand, held on tight, closed his eyes.

“Just wanna go home,” Reid sighed finally. Those words filled Hotch with such joy and melancholy at once.

They were through the front door in forty-five minutes. They would pick Jack up tomorrow—he was safe and sound at Aunt Jessica’s. Tonight they had the house to themselves. Well, almost. Dr. Goodfoot got in Reid’s lap the second Spencer sat down on the couch to sort the mail. He purred and rubbed Reid’s chin, nuzzling him ferociously for a few seconds before pouncing back off the couch and heading for the kitchen.

Hotch watched Reid get up and follow. Goodfoot already had Reid very well trained. Reid interacted sleepily with the cat, pouring food in his bowl, giving him clean water, and retrieving a container of leftover chicken out of the fridge.

Reid had hired a pet sitter to look in on Dr. Goodfoot every day when the team was out of town—a patient woman who had endured possibly the strangest job interview ever. Reid questioned her inside the house, and he had seemed very happy with her, had thanked her profusely for coming out. Hotch had eyeballed her the entire time, not saying one word, but taking copious notes about her. Reid had walked the very nice lady back to her car, and then turned back around to find Ensign James and a mysterious stocky blond man standing at the garage doors, eyeballing the woman as well. (Was this Matts, in the flesh?) The pet sitter had had so many people snooping into her life that Reid joked she could have been granted a security clearance that any FBI agent would have bragged about.

Dr. Goodfoot climbed up on the counter and accepted bites of chicken from Spencer’s fingers. Reid took a bite or two as well, interspersed with bites to Goody, from the same thigh bone, often from the same spot. Hotch shook his head in disbelief at self-confessed germaphobe Reid sharing food with a house pet.

Hotch’s faint smile died away quickly as the possible consequences from this case flooded back over him. Aaron couldn’t let himself wonder how it would have felt, having to tell Mouse that Spencer had died. Or having to tell Reid’s mother. Or having to tell Jack?

What if Spencer had not died but had lingered in a coma, with brain damage or paralysis or other medical injuries from the crash? Hotch wondered if Reid had any advance directives on file about end-of-life decisions. Did Reid have his affairs in order? Hotch thought about all those necessary things he hadn’t thought about before with Reid, but things he had had to deal with when Haley was killed. He wasn’t sure he could bear to go through that all over again. Reid and he had never talked about this, but maybe it was time that they did. Were they at a point in their relationship where they should discuss this?

They were living together and working together and sleeping together. Even though Hotch had kept the other place, they had moved so many of his and Jack’s things here to Reid’s house that it was becoming a mute point to be carrying another mortgage when they didn’t have to be. At what point do you talk about death with the one you love? Maybe the point at which he is dressed in your shirt and old, torn jeans, and he’s painting your son’s bedroom for him? Helping him put up pictures and

posters. Helping him organize his toys. Reid had finished Jack’s room last weekend while Hotch was at the office catching up on paperwork, but the house still smelled strongly of paint fumes. Aaron smiled as he remembered washing paint drops out of Reid’s hair.

Hotch refused Reid’s offer of a bite of chicken, shaking his head again. He retrieved scissors from the junk drawer (if it could be called that, as the contents were neatly aligned and categorized). Hotch snipped the hospital bracelet off Spencer’s wrist and put the scissors away again. He dotted a gentle kiss to the back of Reid's neck, then one on his bruised bump.

Hotch headed upstairs, intent on tossing the dirty laundry in the washer tonight if at all possible. He walked down the hall towards the upstairs bathroom, in order to retrieve the contents of the hamper, but he stopped in his tracks as he swung the bathroom door open. First off, he couldn’t remember having shut this door. Spencer was very fussy about making sure that all doors were open so sun and light and warmth could filter through. Who had closed the bathroom door?

Inside, the room was a shambles. There were shreds of toilet paper everywhere. On the floor. In the tub. On the commode. Out in the hallway. What was left on the roll was little better than confetti. Towels were astray on the floor. Shaving accessories and hair care products were strewn about by the sink. The hamper was tipped over and dirty clothes were everywhere.

Hotch turned around at a noise on the stairs. Goodfoot went scrambling around him, and snatched at his ankles. The cat paused on the threshold and arched his back, and then he went flying in the other direction, heading back into the master bedroom.

The cat was intent on getting his favorite spot on the bed, it would seem.

Reid was plodding quietly up the stairs, dragging a large envelope and reading the contents. He dodged the scrambling cat and scolded him tenderly.

“Goody, calm down.”

Goodfoot ran around Reid, jumped up on the settee, and bounced away, racing back downstairs. Reid came out into the hallway to find Hotch standing at the bathroom door.

“What’s in the envelope?” Hotch asked. Reid was frowning. Spencer looked past Hotch’s shoulder and into the bathroom. His eyes trailed around the chaos, and back out into the hallway. He glanced towards their bedroom. Goody was peering around the corner of the door. Reid managed to smirk and frown at the same time.

“They want me to do another lecture at Georgetown,” Reid mumbled. “I see he’s been up to no good again.”

“What kind of lecture?” Hotch asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll read it more closely tomorrow. Think I’ll tidy up a bit and take a bath,” Reid didn’t answer directly. He bent down to start picking up the chaos, staring with the two-ply confetti.

As Hotch was putting laundry in the washing machine, he heard water running into the bathtub. He shuddered involuntarily at the mental image of Spencer submerged underwater again. The irrational part of him wanted to rush into the room and pull Reid out of the water and keep him out of it.

Reid exclaimed sharply when he climbed into the tub. Hotch glanced down at the washer guiltily – he had used up all the hot water. He made a mental note to replace the old water heater with one of those tank-less ones as soon as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

Reid was in the tub long enough that Hotch had fallen asleep in bed. Aaron didn’t think anything about the light that spilled from the hallway into the bedroom, or the sound of feet crossing the floor slowly.

Hotch felt the bed move with the introduction of a slender body next to his. Again, nothing alarmed him about this.

Cold, wet, clammy hands grasped his torso as an icy body slid against him. Aaron’s eyes snapped open. He was annoyed to his very core by the wet, tangled hair which dripped cold droplets down onto him and all over the bed. A naked form moved against his clothed one, ardent if chilly. Lips as frosty as winter touched his face, his neck, his chest. Hands sough to slide between his legs, and he could feel the gooseflesh crawl over his body.

Hotch put a hand up in protest, seeking to touch Spencer’s face. Then he heard the voice.

“Aaron. Oh, my Aaron. All is forgiven, my love.” It wasn’t Reid.

This cold, hard realization was cemented home when Aaron’s hands connected with the torso of the body on top of him, and cupped over a woman’s breasts.

Hotch leapt awake with a choking scream dying in his throat. He was all wet, but only with clammy sweat and fear. Goodfoot leapt off the bed hissing and spazzing out. He retreated to the window bench and glared at Hotch.

Reid was beside Hotch at once, warm arms around him, warm nose pressed to his neck, warm breath against Hotch’s ear.

“Hotch?” Reid squeaked. “Hotch? You were dreaming. Put down the gun. It’s just me here. You can let it go.”

Hotch moved his hands and realized that yes, he was holding his Glock. The side table drawer had been yanked open. His holster was on the floor. Reid’s shaking hand moved towards the weapon, and Hotch let him take it away.

“I wish you would leave your gun downstairs with mine. I am so terrified you’re going to shoot me one of these days,” Reid murmured, bending across Hotch to retrieve the holster, and to put the weapon in the bedside table drawer. “You okay? Would you like a glass of water?”

“No,” Hotch replied, taking a deep breath and trying to calm his heart. He wanted anything but water. He shuddered with remembrance of cold lips and cold arms and cold legs and icy water dripping onto his skin.

Reid moved back to his own side of the bed and retrieved a blue mug off the other table. He knelt over one of Hotch's legs and held the cup to Hotch’s lips. It was tea – hot and fragrant – full of cinnamon and cloves and cardamom. Hotch thought about the spice cookies his grandmother used to make when he was a very small boy. He noted with a hint of happiness that the tea was the same color as Spencer’s large, worried eyes.

“You’re not sleeping,” Aaron observed.

Reid’s bedside lamp was on. There were books of all shapes and sizes spread out over the covers and stacked up on the floor. Hotch read the titles and did not bother to cover his annoyance. Following Spectral Trails. Ghost Hunting. Holy Ghosts and Unholy Terrors. Paranormal Activities. The books that Reid had already consumed were stacked on the floor. He crawled back to his own side of the bed and added another to the unstable pile and selected a volume from the bed which had been gouging Hotch in the thigh.

“The bath woke me back up too much. I couldn’t close my eyes,” Reid mumbled in reply, turning pages.

Hotch continued to sip at the tea, watching Reid in profile. Although Spencer wasn’t showing any signs of distress at having been drowned and hastily resuscitated, the near-death experience had surely left its mark. Tommie Campbell’s death in South Dakota had struck Reid (and the rest of the team) very hard. When prefaced by the concern that restless spirits were roaming this very house, it wasn’t a surprise that Reid had a sudden, intense curiosity about the paranormal. And as with most subjects, when Reid’s attention was captured, he became insatiable, unstoppable, almost uncontrollable in his quest for knowledge. There were times when Hotch could almost forget that Reid had Asperger’s Syndrome, and then there were times like this when he worried that if he didn’t keep Reid’s mind connected to reality, to the here and now, that Spencer would withdraw inside completely and never come back out again.

Aaron had stared at Reid long enough that Spencer was feeling the pressure. He lifted his eyes again.

“No, I haven’t lost my mind,” Spencer said, reaching for the mug. Hotch was reluctant to let it go. He scooted closer, taking the book away, and curling around Reid in order to share the tea and body heat. He wanted to remind Spencer that there was a world outside of facts and figures and knowledge. And he wanted to shake that ice cold woman out of his mind and out of his bed.

“Morgan told me about your talk with Garcia,” Aaron admitted.

“Great. Next time I want to keep something private, I’m going to use the inner-office memo system. No one ever reads those but me,” Reid frowned. He took another sip of tea, and then Aaron took one as well.

“Why did you go to Garcia? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to start pricing a room for me at Bennington.” 

“Will you tell me what this is all about?”

“Will you stop making that face?” 

“What face?”

Reid snorted with exasperation. He took a final sip, gave the mug of tea back to Hotch, and climbed out of bed. He gathered up the books off the floor and carried them over to the book shelves that lined the far wall. He set the stack on the settee and began to put the books on a particular shelf.

Reid ignored Hotch willfully. He raised his thin shoulders and hid behind them like dark wings. Hotch contemplated getting out of bed early tomorrow and changing the order of the books on the shelves. He could mix them all around, just to annoy Spencer. Aaron hated being ignored, and he especially hated when Reid would become distant and unreachable. Hotch sipped tea and watched Reid put the last book on the shelf. 

“It was before we left for South Dakota,” Spencer murmured.

Hotch gasped, surprised at this turn of events. Reid came back to the bed and turned off his bedside lamp. He crawled in next to Aaron, and reached for him. Hotch felt for the table on his side, set down the empty mug, and curled up under the covers with Spencer. Reid began to speak softly and sleepily to him. Hotch caressed Reid’s back, so grateful for the sound of his deep, gentle voice in the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

(four days previous)

 

“Garcia? Are you alone? I need your help.”

Penelope looked up from her computer screen and beckoned with her fuzzy-ball-topped pen.

“Speak, friend, and enter,” Garcia said, continuing to clack away at the keyboard.

“ ‘Mellon’,” Reid murmured as he sat down in the empty chair. Penelope looked up, laughing softly.

“Someone has spent way too much time with hobbits and elves,” she said. “Oh, look at you. What’s the matter? What can I do for you?” Garcia asked, petting Reid’s closest knee. He reached out to her desk and picked up the small red dragon that resided there. He held the plushy against his chest and petted it with long fingers as he closed his eyes.

“I’ve done something unwise,” he decided.

“What have you done?” Penelope worried, continuing to type. “Adultery? Homicide? Treason? What vice or villainy have you succumbed to, my sweet one?”

“What do you know about paranormal activity and the spirit world?” he tested.

“More than I care to, really,” she answered. “Are you a believer or a non-believer?”

Reid worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “I don’t know what I am. I mean, the logical mind would tell us that without proof, we shouldn’t let our imaginations or our emotions make us jump to rash conclusions. But the more I read, the more I see, the more I think it’s not a question of whether or not you believe in ghosts, but if they believe in you.”

“You’ve had a spectral encounter, haven’t you?” Garcia gasped with excitement. She stopped typing and took his hand. “I knew it! Tell me everything.”

Reid found his voice again.

“I was at home. I was asleep in the tv room. Goody was on my back. All of a sudden, he bolted from the room, hissing. I didn’t think anything of it. He’s jumpy at times for no reason.”

“Animals are more sensitive to the spirit world than humans are,” Garcia interjected.

“I was on my stomach, but I turned over to find out where he went. He was sitting on the dining table, hissing at me. Then I felt it.”

“What did you feel?” Garcia asked, squeezing his hand. 

“Someone sitting on my chest.”

“OH MY GOD!” Penelope exclaimed. “A shape? A presence? A light? Or was it something scary? Like a dog?"

“It felt like a child.” 

“What did you see?”

“Nothing. It was dark, and I didn’t have my glasses on. But I know what it feels like, how much a child would weigh. For a moment, I thought it might even be Jack, but then I remembered that he and Hotch were upstairs doing homework and getting ready for bed.”

“What did you do?”

“I sat still. I didn’t move.”

“What happened?” she wondered.

“The weight slid forward and off onto the floor. I heard footfalls. I did. I heard feet drop to the floor. I could feel it was lonely somehow. I spoke to it.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Don’t worry. You’re safe here’.” 

“Then what?” Garcia asked, eyes wide.

“I can’t tell Hotch about this,” Reid shook his head vehemently. 

“What happened next?’ Garcia demanded.

“I felt a hand on my arm. A child’s hand. It was small. I could feel fingers.” 

Garcia didn’t know what to say.

“I can’t tell Hotch,” Reid repeated softly. “He’ll think I’m crazy. He’ll think I’m under too much pressure at work. He’ll wonder if it’s just my imagination, or he’ll say it’s the pressure of finding out about Mouse. He’ll say that because I’m afraid I’m going to fail as a father, that I’m imagining lost children everywhere. There are a million reasons why I can’t talk to Hotch about this.”

“What did you do?” Garcia asked. 

“I invited the spirit to stay.” 

“How?”

“I said it.”

“What did you say?” 

“Is that important?” 

“Yes,” Garcia insisted.

“I said that it was safe there, and that it could stay if it wanted.” 

“Have you felt the spirit in your house since then?”

“You see, that’s the problem. I have felt the child there, mostly near Goody. The spirit seems drawn to him.” 

“Maybe the child likes cats?”

“Maybe. The child is not the problem though. Since then, I’ve felt other things too, other spirits in the house.”

“How do you know?”

“Cold spots. Darkness. Things moving around when no one is there. One of the chairs in the kitchen keeps getting turned around.”

“Turned around?”

“Like someone very short is using it to look in the upper cabinets.” 

“Jack?” Garcia suggested.

“Jack has a foot stool. Hotch has scolded him about using the chairs, so he wouldn't be using one to climb around."

“Go on.”

“There are spots in the house now with undefined bad feelings. Before now, I have never felt unsafe at home. The house was warm and inviting. I was drawn to it because it felt warm. When I walked through the front door, I just knew it was the house I wanted because it made me feel at home.”

“And now?”

“Undefined bad feelings,” Reid repeated, shuddering. “I’ve sensed the child watching when I’m playing with Jack, or cooking dinner, or reading in a quiet corner, or working at my desk. But something else is there too. Something not like the child.” 

“How is it not like the child?”

“The child isn’t threatening or dangerous.”

“But the other thing you’re feeling there is?” Garcia whispered. “Reid?” she added, feeling him shudder.

“I don’t know what it is, the other thing, but it is very dangerous. I don’t want to be alone there by myself. I was fine before, but now, even knowing the merry men are nearby, I’m afraid to be alone in my own house. Garcia, I can’t talk to Hotch about this. This is something I have to solve on my own.”

“What have you done so far? I know you. You’ve tried to solve it on your own, but it hasn’t worked.”

“I’ve been reading. I went to see Bubbles, and I cleaned out her paranormal section entirely. She made me promise I would read and return most of the books, and she said she would get me more if she could.”

“Did you find anything helpful?”

“I can tell you just about anything you want to know about getting in touch with the spirit world or ghostly encounters, written by everyone from those with practical experience, to theorists, to frauds, and to charlatans. But to be honest, my empirical studies have proven fruitless so far. I have to wonder if I’m not the reason they’re not working. The harder I try, the less I feel.”

“Are your own beliefs, or the lack thereof, standing in the way of seeing through the veil?” Garcia wondered.

“I only saw the child because it made its presence known to me. Whatever other spirit or spirits are in the house, they don’t want me to see them, but they do make themselves felt.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I need someone who is a believer. Someone who could act as an intermediary, a conduit for me.”

“You mean me?” Garcia smiled. Reid nodded. “You want me to come to your house and help you talk to your spirits?”

“Can you do that?”

“I don’t know if I can or not. But I know someone who can. Suppose this works, though. What do you to say to the spirits?”

Reid shrugged both shoulders, fingering the scales on the red dragon in his grip.

“Get them to talk to me first, and we’ll go from there.” 

“Do you understand what you’re asking me to do?” 

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll need help. I don’t have that much experience with this, but I have a friend, and she’ll know what to do. Is it all right with you if I tell her?”

“Yes, if you think she can help. Thanks for not telling me I’m crazy,” Reid said softly, caressing the dragon, and exhaling a deep breath. Garcia didn’t get a chance to reply. Her office door popped open, and Hotch appeared.

“Time to go – South Dakota – shake a leg, Reid,” Aaron commanded. His dark eyes darted to Penelope. “Garcia, we’ll be in touch from the air.”

Spencer jumped up to follow at Hotch’s command. He gave Garcia back her small dragon. Garcia grabbed Reid’s bag. She tucked the warm fuzzy into Reid’s bag and rested it on his hip.

“Keep Little Snout with you until you’re back safe,” Penelope said, patting Reid’s elbow and motioning for him to follow Hotch.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello! Graphic Sexual Encounter ahead!

“What happened to mental health days?” Reid asked as he rolled over in bed the next morning and encountered Hotch in a dark suit and deep red tie and wingtips.

Hotch continued to adjust his tie in the mirror as he spoke. “I’ll be home before noon. We’ll spend the rest of the day together, and pick up Jack from school, and go out to dinner. I promise.”

“Bullshit,” Reid mused in sing-song voice, hiding back under the covers.

“I’ll be home by one at the latest,” Hotch insisted.

Reid’s only reply was a soft laugh from the well of the covers. 

“Really. I will,” Hotch promised. 

Reid sat up, fishing a book out from beneath the volume of sheets and blankets and comforters. 

“More ghost hunting?” Aaron wondered.

“Erotica,” Reid purred, getting comfortable on Hotch’s pillow and snuggling into the half of the blankets that still held his lover’s scent and body warmth. One of Spencer’s long legs emerged, coiled up with the dark purple sheets.

“If you wait for me, I’ll read to you,” Hotch offered. Hungry hazel eyes focused on Hotch from up over the edge of the blue book that Reid held. Spencer closed the book and rested the thin volume on his abdomen. He stared hopefully at Hotch. Aaron went back to adjusting his tie. Reid put the blue book aside and got up on his knees. He hobbled to the end of the bed and reached forward, managing to take a hold of Hotch and his silken red tie.

“Promise you’ll be home soon?” Spencer whispered, undoing the knot and starting over again. He had Hotch’s tie fixed smooth and perfect in seconds.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Hotch whispered, picking up the book off the bed. “Would you like a preview?” he asked. He focused on the page and his face fell. “What language is this?” he wondered.

Reid retrieved his book from Hotch. He tossed it gently up to the head of the bed and turned his attention back to Aaron. Reid nuzzled down the middle of Hotch’s tie, nosing through his shirt buttons, licking the white cotton tee beneath as his nimble fingers toyed with Hotch’s belt.

“I want you to know, Aaron Hotchner, that I’m gonna burn all your nice suits in a big bonfire if you stay at work past two,” Spencer warned in a sultry voice. Hotch allowed a smile because he knew Reid was kidding. Or was he?

“What are you doing?” Aaron gasped as long fingers teased inside his trousers. “I’m going to be late,” he moaned, feeling cool air inside his clothes.

“Yes, you are,” Reid answered from waist-height, nuzzling Aaron’s abdomen, undoing his slacks entirely. He nosed and kissed, moved fingers around Aaron’s hips, gently lowering his boxers and trousers. Reid mouthed around the head of Hotch’s cock, tonguing along his length, making Aaron groan. Wonderful warm wet heat enveloped Hotch, and he gasped out, feeling himself grow hard and heavy inside Reid’s mouth.

Reid was bowing before Hotch, shoulders down, up on his knees, butt in the air, working Aaron into his mouth, deep into his throat. Aaron hated hearing himself whimper and beg this way, crooning senseless sounds. Reid was lapping up the attention though. He cherished every sweet syllable of fragile desperation.

Hotch knew he wasn’t supposed to touch Reid’s hair or his face. It took all of Hotch’s presence of mind not to grab the wild locks of hair that tickled his bare skin. He finally settled on rubbing both hands on Spencer’s back, grasping unsteadily at his shoulders, trying not to thrust too hard or too fast. His knees were buckling against the side of the bed, and the room was spinning, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Spencer.

Three hours later at his desk at work, all Hotch could think about was Reid on his knees before him, how his bent body swayed forward and back with each bob and suck. Spencer’s own moans were rising in concert with Hotch’s. Eventually both of Reid’s hands had retreated from holding Hotch’s hips, and moved down between his own legs. Hotch’s hands had unconsciously slipped upward, cupping the back of Reid’s head, and for a long second, Aaron was terrified Reid would pull away, furious at being touched. Instead, Spencer had whimpered with desire and let Hotch control him, his own hands stroking faster and more desperately underneath his hunched body. Hotch caressed Reid’s hair and cupped his skull, letting Reid set his own pace. Aaron restrained himself in spite of his building desire. The trust that Reid was showing in him made his desire burn even brighter.

After they had both finished, Reid had laid down on the end of the bed, watching Hotch redress. Spencer had kept his hands clutched between his closed thighs, his legs and arms tangled in the damp sheets. Hotch was already creating elaborate fantasies in his mind about having Spencer’s long, lean body tied spread-eagle on their bed this afternoon. He wanted to make his lover dizzy with desire, make him shake from head to toe, make him beg until he was hoarse.

Reid watched with half-lidded eyes as Hotch moved back from the bed to pull up his clothes, redo his belt. Had Reid guessed what Hotch was planning for him later? Hotch put one hand through Reid’s untamed hair. He bent down and nuzzled his ticklish right ear. Reid lifted up into the touch, groaning with happiness, a tiny smile curling his lips. The tip of his tongue cleaned an indefinite spot off the side of his mouth. Hotch nipped at Spencer’s ear, and snatched up one corner of the sheet. Reid stayed where he was as Hotch retreated towards the door, drawing the sheet along. Once at the doorway, Hotch let go of the sheet and let it spill to the floor. Hotch’s dark eyes remained glued to Reid, who was coiled up naked body on the bed.

Reid stayed obediently where he was, letting Hotch memorize him. There was something about the way Spencer was watching Aaron that made him nervous and giddy at once. Had Reid been testing Hotch, letting him touch his hair and face? Had Aaron passed this unspoken test?

When Derek Morgan went past the frame of Hotch’s office door, Hotch jolted out of his reverie about Spencer, returned mentally to the work on his desk.

“Morgan?” Aaron called out.

“I’m a figment of your imagination,” Derek called back. 

“Morgan,” Hotch repeated more sternly.

Morgan came back to the office door, leaning against the frame. “I’m here to take Garcia to lunch, as soon as I find her.”

“I gave her the day off too, today and tomorrow, like everyone else. I had to make JJ leave when I got here this morning. I will make you leave too,” Hotch frowned.

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving. But I gotta find Penelope first. She’s not answering her phone, and she’s not at home.”

“Did she have plans?”

“Not that she mentioned last night.”

“Have you checked with JJ and Prentiss?”

“She’s not with them. Prentiss said they were going to be at one of those boutique day spas this afternoon.”

“Day spa?” Hotch laughed.

“Hey, if they had asked me, I would have gone too,” Derek murmured. “Soak in a hot tub for hours and hours. Manicure. Pedicure. Full body massage. You have never been so relaxed…..”

“That does sound inviting, actually,” Hotch admitted. “Did you check with Rossi? Maybe he asked her for help with a case.”

“Rossi’s at home watching food porn.”

“What is food porn?” Hotch asked innocently.

“Dave’s flipping around the cooking channels on the tv. He kept talking about me interrupting his quality time with Giada DeLaurentis.”

“Who is that?”

“Some sexy Italian chef he has a thing for.”

Hotch thought suddenly about Reid asking Garcia for help him with the restless spirits lurking around the house.

“Did you try Reid, see if he knows where Garcia is?” Aaron asked.

“Not yet. I kind of assumed he would be in bed with his books today. Or with you. But you’re here. So I’m guessing he’s with his books. He goes into sloth mode on days off.”

Hotch picked up the desk phone, handed the receiver to Morgan, and dialed the phone without even glancing at the numbers. Derek smiled at the action but said nothing.

“Hello? Hey, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said. Hotch perked an ear towards the muffled conversation. “Have you seen Garcia today? Oh good. Where are you? Kimmy? Oh no. Not Kimmy. She’s a flake, that’s why. Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you? You and Penelope stay out of trouble. I’ll swing by with lunch in an hour or so. Bring Hotch? If I can pry him away from his desk. What’s that? Yeah, kid, I bet you could. See you soon.”

Morgan hung up the phone and shook his head.

“You win. Garcia is with Reid. They’re heading over to pick up Garcia’s friend Kimmy.”

“Who is a flake, apparently?”

“A complete flake,” Morgan assured Hotch with a grim, disapproving frown. 

“By what measure?”

“Dr. Basenthorpe is a psychiatrist who needs a psychiatrist.” 

“Because….?”

“She’s also a psychic witch.” 

“A what?” Hotch asked deeply.

“No, wait. I apologize. Penelope told me I should be more open-minded. Kimmy’s not a witch. She’s a wiccan practitioner with paranormal abilities.”

“Of course she is,” Hotch murmured skeptically. Then he stopped and blinked. It took Hotch all of about three seconds to realize why Garcia would be taking Reid to pick up Kimmy, a psychic wiccan practitioner. He closed the file on his desk and reached for his car keys, muttering obscenities to himself.

“Let’s go,” he said to Morgan.

“You’re in a hurry all of a sudden,” Derek said.

“Yeah. You bet I am. I’m hoping we get to Reid’s house before Garcia and her friend Kimmy accidently open up a portal to hell in the middle of our dining room.”


	7. Chapter 7

“So I did some digging around about your house, if you’ll forgive the expression,” Garcia said as Reid turned down one street and made a left at the next.

“What did you find out?”

“The original structure was built in the 1700’s. It’s been destroyed by fire, not once, not twice, but three times. It was entirely reconstructed in the 1870’s by a shipping merchant who made good in Quantico when it was more of a shipping port and less of a private rookery for various governmental strategic services. There should be a family burial plot somewhere on the grounds, if I’m not mistaken.”

“What?” Reid squeaked, stopping in the middle of the road. “Are you sure? I haven’t seen any graves, and I’ve walked everywhere.”

“The headstones may have been moved or disturbed or destroyed, but the house was once part of a much larger farm, which the shipping merchant bought. He didn’t farm it. Let a few horses roam around it. There should be a family cemetery somewhere on the grounds. The shipping merchant had several children who died very young. The church refused to bury them in the churchyard because of the suspicious nature of their deaths. They are buried somewhere there on the farm. His wife is buried there too.”

“Are you serious?” Reid gasped.

“Pull up here. That’s Kimmy’s apartment house,” Garcia pointed. “You wait here. I’ll go get her.”

Penelope returned shortly with a young woman around her own age and similarly shaped. Her dark brown hair was braided back in a neat plait, and she had very sympathetic blue eyes. Kimmy was friendly. Reid liked her from the moment he climbed out of the car to say hello.

“Dr. Spencer Reid, Dr. Kim Basenthorpe. Federal agent. Psychiatrist. Witch. Genius. Genius. Witch.”

“You don’t look like a witch,” Reid said with a nervous smile.

“You don’t look like a federal agent,” Kimmy replied, smirking slightly. Reid smiled wider.

“Shake hands. Make friends,” Garcia insisted.

“Sorry. I can’t shake hands today,” Kimmy replied, drawing back. Reid was equally squeamish about the idea of a handshake.

“Why not?” Garcia worried. Kimmy motioned to the sky and faced Penelope, whispering to her.

“Strong tides today. Waxing gibbous. I have to be careful who I touch, or…. boom,” she murmured.

“Boom?” Reid inquired with a timid gulp.

“When the moon is stronger, I am stronger. I read people by touching their hands.”

“How is that a bad thing?” Reid wondered, his mind flying away on a tangent of how remarkably useful such an ability would be during interrogations.

“Wrong day, wrong hand, and I see everything. I see more than I want to see.”

“Sorry,” Reid offered shyly.

“You’re lucky it’s not three days from now. I wouldn’t even be able to leave the house.”

Shall we go?” Garcia motioned. Reid nodded as if he understood.

In the car, Garcia and Kimmy took over the backseat while Reid drove. He tried to concentrate on the traffic instead of their conversation. It was impossible not to listen at least a little though. They discussed Kevin, mostly, and how Kimmy felt about Kevin. 

“You’re thinking about Kevin again.” 

“Yeah,” Garcia admitted.

“How are things?” 

“Strained.”

“You have to give him time. Penelope, you intimidate him. He’s worried you’re going to wake up and realize you can do so much better than him, so he’s not letting himself get too attached, because he’s afraid he’s going to lose you.”

“Have I done anything to make him feel that way?”

“No. It’s his own insecurities. Give him time. He’ll come around. You can’t say anything. It will only make matters worse.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“He’ll come around in time to how you feel about him. I can’t say when, but one day soon, he’s going to look up, and the light will shine for him. It’s going to be all so clear, and then it will all be all right.”

“Kimmy, that is so not helpful,” Garcia sighed, laughing. 

“Buy those chocolates again. He liked those chocolates.” 

“Which ones?”

“Godiva. The red box. The cherry cordials. You injected them with rum, didn’t you? He was so disappointed when he got a box on his own, and they tasted differently. He wondered how you made them taste so good before. You should get those for him again. He thinks you worked magic on them.”

“Where’s the nearest Godiva store?” Garcia asked, grabbing Reid’s shoulders.

“Union Station?” he suggested, squinting.

“Drive!” she commanded.

In front of Union Station, Reid went around the statuary fountain rotary circle exactly twenty times as he waited for a parking space to open, or for Garcia and Kimmy to return. They returned before any spaces became free, which didn’t surprise Spencer in the slightest.

Reid maneuvered around taxis and tour buses, and pulled up to the crosswalk. Kimmy raced around the vehicle and climbed in behind Reid. Garcia jumped into the front seat and stuffed about a dozen bags into the floorboard.

“Morgan is going to be mad if we aren’t there when he gets there,” Reid said quietly, wondering what in the world Garcia had managed to buy in sixteen minutes and ten seconds. The Godiva store was on the first level straight across from the entrance. One had to cross the busy lobby to get to the store. Even so, that would have left approximately fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds.

“Raspberry,” Kimmy said from the backseat. She had one bag with her. A small bag.

“What?” Reid asked.

“Derek. Dark chocolate raspberry truffles. He likes them best.” 

“Got ‘em,” Penelope grinned. “Drive, babydoll.”

Kimmy gasped. She stifled a blush and an embarrassed giggle. 

“Babydoll,” she murmured. “Oh, Emmy.”

Reid stopped the car at a stoplight and whirled around to face Kimmy. His eyes were huge, and his mouth was scrunched up tight.

“Sorry,” Kimmy said.

“Not one word,” he warned, turning back around to continue driving.

“What?” Garcia asked, unwrapping a small box and taking out a chocolate bonbon. She reached over to Reid and pushed it between his open lips.

“Nothing,” Reid mumbled, chewing. Kimmy was blushing as badly as Reid was.

“You shouldn’t call him ‘babydoll’,” Basenthorpe said to Garcia, who nodded.

“Okay,” Penelope agreed. Reid knew that promise was going to last all of about a minute.

“Don’t ask why,” Kimmy insisted. 

“Do not ask,” Reid stressed.

“Emmy? You must mean Emily,” Garcia pressed. 

“Do not ask,” Reid repeated.

“We went shopping at the same store for Hotch’s birthday gifts, you know,” Penelope smiled deviously at him. Spencer cringed. “Honey, you probably should not close your eyes while driving,” Garcia added.


	8. Chapter 8

“Good. They’re not here yet,” Garcia sighed with relief when Reid turned down his driveway and headed towards the garage. A lithe figure in a gray trench coat was lounging on the back stoop, stroking Dr. Goodfoot’s back and tail.

“What kept you?” Lieutenant Spaulding asked. She stood up and stretched as Reid approached the open back door.

“If you were tailing me, how did you get here so fast?” he asked her. 

“Magic,” she grinned. “I’ll be lurking if you need me.”

“Lurk to your heart’s content,” Reid agreed, shooing Goody back inside. 

“Wait, you know, actually, we could use another person,” Kimmy said. Spaulding stared suspiciously at her and Garcia and then at Reid.

“Another person for what?” the lieutenant asked as she narrowed her sharp eyes. A salty smirk lit her face, and Reid blushed hot again, afraid to ask what she thought he was about to get up to with Garcia and her friend.

“We’re going to try and contact the spirits that are wandering Dr. Reid’s house,” Kimmy said matter-of-factly.

Lieutenant Spaulding shot Reid a surprised glance, and shook her head. 

“No, thanks. Good luck with that though. I’ll be in the barn.”

Reid and Garcia moved the dining table to the side of the dining room, and stacked the chairs up along the wall as well. Kimmy had taken off her shoes and her suit jacket, and she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, right underneath the chandelier. She was resting her hands on her knees, palms up, fingers unfurled. Reid gave her a wry smile.

“Take off your shoes. Be seated,” Kimmy said without opening her eyes.

“Think your guard is going to put what Kimmy said in today’s report to General Scott?” Garcia asked, meaning Spaulding. Reid shook his head no.

“Probably not,” Spencer murmured.

“ ‘Today the doctor invited his friends over and they held a spiritual séance in his dining room. Tomorrow, perhaps, they will attempt to raise the dead’,” Penelope chortled as she kicked off her heels, put them under the table, and put her purse and the Godiva bags on the top of the wooden surface.

Reid took off his jacket and his shoes, and approached Basenthorpe nervously.

“Wait,” Kimmy said. “Take off anything metal you’re wearing.” 

“Everything?” Reid questioned.

“Everything,” Garcia’s friend nodded. She opened her eyes and studied him. “Keys. Change. Cuff links. Rings. Necklaces.”

“I can’t remove all the metal on my person,” Reid mused.

“Oh. Difficult. Yes. You’d better leave that one alone,” Kimmy decided. 

“What?” Garcia asked.

“He has a small metal pin in his knee,” Basenthorpe said. Reid spilled change on the table with his keys, and came back over to them. “Sit in the middle, here,” Kimmy said, tapping the space before her.

Reid carefully placed himself down between Garcia and Basenthorpe. Kimmy gave him a crooked smile.

“So you’ve read Dr. Foster. I saw his book on the kitchen table as we came through.”

“I have.”

“What was your opinion of him?”

“While I find some of his experiments interesting, I think his interview methods leave a lot to be desired in terms of bedside manner. He has no patience or empathy for those who have experienced uncomfortable or frightening paranormal activities.”

“Yes, he can be a bit unfeeling,” Kimmy agreed. “Glad you agree with me. I tend to be the opposite.”

“I understand,” Reid nodded.

“If I get too close or say too much, tell me to stop.” 

“I will.”

“Dr. Reid, it’s all right if you’re skeptical. Garcia was too at first,” Basenthorpe said.

“Only a little,” Penelope said.

“You felt the first spirit in the room over there,” Kimmy said as she motioned with her head. The chandelier above them began to swing back and forth. Garcia gasped. Kimmy closed her eyes. Reid spoke without looking up.

“Goody, get down,” Spencer said impatiently. He heard a movement by his shoes, and glanced over at the table. The cat was hidden under the table, as far back against the wall as he could get. His green eyes were wide with alarm.

Reid looked above himself as the chandelier continued to sway, playing an off-key melody as the crystals moved around. Every hair on Spencer’s body stood up.

“Nothing to worry about,” Kimmy said. “Energy in the room – from us, from the spirits, from those seen and those unseen. You felt a child, a small spirit.”

“Yes,” Reid replied. Garcia didn’t have her eyes closed. She was watching the chandelier as it came to a rest.

“Did you ask for a name?” Kimmy wondered. 

“No.”

“It might be Rebecca,” Penelope said. 

“What?” Reid’s head snapped her direction. 

“Rebecca.”

“Is she speaking to you?” Kimmy asked.

“No. I read the history of the house. A merchant owned the land, several acres of land on this spot. His wife and children lived alone while he was away on business. He’d come home long enough to get her pregnant and leave her again. The wife gave birth to fourteen children, and one by one by one, they began to die while the captain was away on business. One of the daughters was named Rebecca. She didn’t die like the others, in bed in the dead of night. Rebecca vanished in the house and was never found. The wife searched for Rebecca everywhere but couldn’t find her, and finally, as a last resort, she burned the house to the ground in order to be sure that Rebecca was dead too. They found her charred bones in the ashes that were left when the house had collapsed."

“Are you making this up?” Reid asked, shivering. Garcia smiled at him. “That wasn’t in the archives I read,” Spencer whispered.

“Of course not. You think they’d put that sort of tale in the local archives?” 

“No.”

“The captain returned home and found his children all dead, his house burned to the ground, and his wife, alive but running around mad in the woods like a wild animal.”

“What did he do?” Spencer asked.

“He built a new house, captured his wife, and locked her in her bedroom. He slept with her day after day after day until he got her pregnant again. He kept her from self harm until she carried the child to term. And then, after she had the baby, the captain kept his wife locked in her room, and he raised their child on his own. He never left home again. He kept his wife alive, but kept her locked in her room. It drove her mad, eventually, hearing the child playing, running around the house, happy and alive and free, while she was locked away and couldn’t get her hands on it, couldn’t kill it like all the others. She escaped from the house and drowned herself in Quantico Creek."

“Eventually?” Reid questioned. “How long did eventually take?”

“Years and years. Do you want to know the creepy part?” Garcia asked. “He named the new baby Rebecca too.”

“I think you’ve read too many gothic novels,” Reid told Garcia, who grinned playfully at him.

“That’s not even the creepiest part,” Penelope whispered.

“What’s the creepiest part?” Reid asked, so embarrassed that he was falling into this verbal game with Garcia.

“The shipping captain? His name was Aaron.”

Reid caught his breath. Behind him, the pocket doors to the tv room closed themselves loudly, sealing off the room with a loud bang.

“Kimmy, stop it,” Garcia scolded.

“I’m not doing it,” Kimmy insisted. "This house is full of energy though. You could light a city block with all this."

“She’s here,” Reid murmured. 

“Rebecca?” Garcia asked.

Reid shook his head no.

“The other one,” Reid shivered.

“Dr. Reid, don’t break the circle,” Kimmy warned, then sighed in frustration as Reid leapt backwards and upright and moved away from the two of them. The chandelier swung to life again, nearly hitting Reid in the head. Goodfoot sped past Reid and up the stairs like a rocket.

There was a key in the lock of the front door. Reid shot that direction and collided with Hotch and Morgan as they came through the portal.

“Everything okay?” Hotch asked, sliding an arm around Reid, who was suddenly plastered against him, face buried in his neck.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Reid replied with a tremble.

Hotch stared across the foyer and the dining room, where Garcia was helping Kimmy back to her feet. He narrowed his eyes at the two of them, but said nothing. Reid’s heart was pounding. The chandelier stopped swinging, and the pocket doors to the tv room leapt open once more.

“I hope you’re done, because we’re going to need the table,” Morgan said evenly, holding up several bags of takeout food.

Hotch was giving Garcia a dark and foreboding frown.


	9. Chapter 9

His hands were chained together. Reid couldn’t move his hands. He pulled on his wrists with all his strength, but he could not pull his hands free of whatever was holding them. He started to whimper in fear. He struggled to move his legs, wanting to pull them sideways and up close to his body, only to realize they were restrained as well. He didn’t like lying here like this, legs open, cold air wandering over his naked body.

Someone held a metal cup to his lips, lifted up his head by the back of his skull.

“Drink,” the voice commanded.

“No, no, no,” Spencer whimpered in reply, trying to turn his head away. The fingers clenched tightly through his hair. The metal cup was pressed more firmly into his mouth, against his lips, clanking on his bottom teeth.

“Drink,” the voice commanded again, more forcefully this time.

Spencer swallowed a few sips. It was wine, fortified with spices, a mulled wine, like Christmas. His frightened mind wandered, analyzing the flavors that had been tipped over his tongue. He was tasting cinnamon and cloves and something else unknown.

He heard the cup being set aside on a wooden surface. He felt the bed move as a form kneeled over him, got between his immobilized, spread legs. Rough hands moved over his naked torso, slid down to his slender hips, slid possessively between his thighs, pushed inside him.

“Aaron. Aaron. Stop,” Spencer begged. “Please stop. Please. I don’t want this. Please. Aaron. Aaron.”

There was no reply. Maybe it wasn’t Hotch?

“Stop, please, please, please,” Spencer begged. He bit his mouth closed around a cry of pain as he was penetrated, impaled to the hilt. A solid, heavy man was on top of him, moving inside him, tongue tracing his neck, teeth digging into his shoulder.

This wasn’t Hotch. This man was rough and angry. He smelled like salt air and kerosene. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t gentleness. This was punishment. This was pain. This was anger and hurt and sorrow and guilt. This was power. This would never stop, ever, no matter how much he begged.

“Hotch….please…..please….”

Spencer turned his head aside, finding a prism of light and color on the far wall. The sunlight was pouring through the dining room and glancing off the chandelier, and there were prisms dancing on the wall. Spencer stared at the prisms until everything else faded away. He could feel nothing. He would feel nothing. He would curl up inside and hide from all the pain.

A light lit his brain, creating a pinpoint of intense pain that shot inside him and would not be ignored. He was being shaken awake by someone over him. He was being picked up out of bed. He was being rocked against someone’s shoulder. He was being held upright.

“It’s okay. Shh. I’m here. Goddamn it, Garcia, when I see you on Monday….”

Reid snuggled against Hotch, and held on trustingly with both arms around the broad shoulders that were supporting him. He was sure it was Hotch this time, holding him, protecting him, breathing kisses to his neck and ear.

Hotch gasped in alarm. He scooped Reid up into his arms and carried him out of the bedroom.

“Are you okay?" Hotch asked. “Let me have a look at you. Are you hurt? What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

Reid realized he was sitting on the bathroom floor. Cold tiles were pressing into his naked skin. Hotch had peeled off Spencer’s pajamas, tossing them into a bloody and torn pile across the threshold. Blood was pooling around them onto the floor. Trails of red were traced all over Reid's naked body. Red rents were slashed across Reid’s chest, over his torso, down his back. Aaron touched him gently, lifting his chin, keeping their eyes locked together so Spencer would not see all the blood and start to panic.

“Who hurt you?” Hotch whispered. “Reid, who hurt you?”

Aaron was kneeling beside the bathtub, filling it with water. He tipped a capful of bubble bath under the rushing water. Perhaps the bubbles would hide the blood and the cuts? He turned around and helped Reid to his feet, and then guided him into the tub. Spencer coiled up against the icy porcelain and hid his face in his arms, balanced his arms on his knees.

Hotch waited for the water to come up to a certain level, let the bubbles rise with the water, and then he turned off the faucets. He caressed Reid’s hair, and kissed the back of his shoulder.

“You stay here.”

“Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone,” Reid whimpered, grasping anxiously at Hotch.

“I’m going to be less than fifteen feet away. I need to get my phone.”

“No, don’t call. I’m okay….just scratches… I’m okay,” Reid whispered, touching the fresh marks across his skin. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”

Hotch withdrew his hand from Reid’s death grip and left the bathroom, picking up the pajamas as he cross the threshold. Spencer heard him making noises in the bedroom. Aaron went past the open bathroom door. He was dragging the bed sheets. They were ruined with puddles of dark red blood and ripped to shreds as well. Hotch couldn’t understand how so much damage had been done right next to him in bed, and yet he had heard and felt nothing but Spencer screaming out with nightmares.

Reid coiled up tighter and closed his eyes. Hotch passed the door again, going to the linen closet. He returned to the bedroom, presumably covering the bed with new sheets.

Reid heard steps on the bathroom threshold and opened his eyes, expecting Aaron to be there, smiling patiently and gently at him.

It was a naked woman with long dark hair and a filthy face. She was scarred with fingernail scratches, some healed and some fresh, over her entire hideous, bony body. Her wild-hollow-brown eyes locked on Reid. Her face contorted with a vengeful scowl, and she leapt forward like a wild animal.

Spencer screamed for Hotch. Aaron dropped the pillow he was holding, stopped puzzling over why the blood had been so thick on the sheets but none of it had soaked through onto the mattress. He raced for the bathroom.

The door slammed in Hotch’s face. He could hear Reid inside, kicking, fighting, struggling. Hotch began pounding on the door, and it leapt open as quickly as it had closed. He burst through the door and whirled around in panic.

The floor was soaking wet. There had been a bloody struggle. There were dark red sprays on the walls and the floor and all over the surface of the tub.

Reid was in the tub, struggling with himself. There were vivid hand prints and bite marks around his neck, and more wild scratches had appeared on his arms and chest and legs.

Hotch grabbed Spencer under his arms and pulled him out of the red-tinged water. Reid was coughing and sobbing. Hotch grabbed both his wrists and held them tight. He flattened Reid to the floor, and Reid started screaming at the top of his lungs, struggling with Hotch.

“Reid! Calm down! Calm down!” Hotch urged.

“STOP!!” Reid howled. He was kicking now. Hotch did not expect Spencer to be so strong. He struggled for control and held the screaming man as immobile as possible. The bathroom door opened, smacking Hotch in the foot. It was Ensign James, gun drawn, face a mask of concern.

“Call an ambulance,” Hotch urged. “Now!”

The ensign vanished, obeying Hotch at once in spite of Reid's protests. 

“No! No! NO!” Reid screamed.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hotch?”

Aaron whirled around in the hospital hallway. He was so relieved when Morgan and Prentiss approached that he almost cried. He didn't even question how calling Morgan had resulted in both Morgan and Prentiss showing up. He was just so glad they were there, no questions asked, this hour of the night.

“What happened?” Emily asked. At a loss for words, Hotch could only point inside the room. Reid was lying asleep in the hospital bed, sedated into a stupor. The doctor had promised that he would rest until morning at least. It killed Hotch to see Reid this way -- his arms and ankles buckled down to the bed. His scratches and bites had been tended. Most of them were superficial. He looked like he'd been in a fight. Essentially, he had, but not with any foe that Hotch had physically seen.

'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'

The paraphrase from Sherlock Holmes rolled around Hotch's brain and made him dizzy with fear. Had Reid actually been attacked by a spirit?

Morgan took Hotch’s arm and turned him around, examining the bruises, and scratches, and bites on his forearms. Hotch looked down in surprise. It was clear from his expression that he hadn’t even noticed them before himself. Had Reid done all of that? Even in all the panic, Hotch did not remember Reid biting him even once Where had the bite marks come from? The analytical part of his mind studied the radius of the bites and knew for a fact that if Reid had been the one who had bitten him, those marks would have been at least a third bigger in diameter. These teeth marks were too small to have been given by Spencer Reid. The man had a bite like a saber-tooth tiger.

“What happened?” Prentiss repeated.

“He was having nightmares. I woke him up. He was covered in scratches. He was totally out of control.” Hotch blurted the words, realizing he wasn’t making any sense. “I didn’t know what else to do except bring him here.”

“What was he dreaming about?” Prentiss worried.

“I don’t know,” Hotch gulped. He had a good idea though, she knew, by watching Aaron duck to avoid eye contact.

“Do you think he’s had a mental break?” Morgan began.

“No!” Hotch shouted. “This isn’t a psychotic break. Reid is going to be fine,” he insisted. “It was only a dream but it scared him more than usual.”

“What about the scratches?”

“They could be self-inflicted,” Aaron mumbled even as he knew that was wrong. Reid would have been able to scratch himself on his front side, but the marks on his back and the bites on the nape of his neck were physically impossible to self-inflict. Suddenly he wanted to compare the bite marks on his arms with the bite marks all over Spencer. If those marks matched, that meant whoever had bitten Reid had also bitten Hotch, and knowing he didn't bite Reid and Reid hadn't bitten him, that left Hotch with only one conclusion -- there had been a third person in the bathroom, and she had been biting the both of them.

Holy shit. Aaron shuddered and leaned against the hospital room door. 

“Hotch, what the hell is going on here?” Prentiss asked.

“What the hell indeed,” Morgan grumbled, pulling out his phone. 

“I need to talk to Garcia,” Hotch said.

“One step ahead of you there,” Derek promised. “Her and Kimmy both,” Morgan grumbled.

“Emily, could you stay here, make sure Spencer is….make sure he’s…..safe?" Hotch pleaded.

“I won’t leave his side,” Prentiss promised. 

"Don't let anyone in his room."

"Even the doctor?"

“The doctor is okay. But no one else."

"Who am I guarding him against?" Prentiss asked.

"You'll know her when you don't see her," Morgan replied. Prentiss frowned darkly at Derek.

"Tell Reid I will bring him home tomorrow. If he wakes up, make sure he understands this is only for tonight," Hotch said before he hurried away. Morgan followed Hotch down the hospital corridor, already dialing his phone.

Emily opened the hospital room door, and quietly entered, having a bad feeling of déjà-vu. This was the second time this week she had been sitting beside Reid’s hospital bed. She pulled up a chair and stared down at him, caressing his hair and nuzzling his forehead. He stirred but didn’t open his eyes. He thrashed in his sleep though.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” Emily murmured.

Reid’s mouth moved in reply, but she could not hear his words until she leaned closer. She caught her breath when she realized he was whispering in Latin.

“…..ego vos expello…..” (I expel you)


	11. Chapter 11

“Pretend for a moment that I believe in this bullshit. Tell me what to do,” Hotch growled. He had every reason to be grumpy. It was five in the morning on a Sunday, and he had invited a witch into his house because apparently an evil spirit had attacked Reid. It was so unreal that he couldn’t wrap his tired brain around it.

“First I have to know what happened,” Kimmy said, examining the bruises and bites on Hotch's forearms.

“Reid is in the hospital because of whatever is loose in this house. I want you to make it go away. Now.”

“You don’t believe he hurt himself?”

“I don't think so, no. Not all of his injuries could have been self-inflicted.”

"That's usually the conclusion people jump to in a situation where someone has been injured by a spirit, that the person injured themselves"

"I'm not most people," Hotch replied directly.

“That means you do believe someone else hurt him.” 

“I suppose it does.”

“But you took Reid to the hospital anyway.”

“I am erring on the side of caution. I’m not leaving him alone here until I’m sure he’s going to be safe, either from himself or from whatever is in here.”

“How do you feel about the spirit world, Agent Hotchner?” 

“Is that important?”

"You have a hard time trusting anyone but yourself. You can’t let yourself believe in something or someone you don’t have a chance to control, and that’s the problem then, isn’t it?” Kimmy asked. Hotch's hostility was ebbing into her. “You and your sense of control.”

“Kimmy,” Garcia whispered urgently under her breath.

Garcia and Morgan were sitting with Basenthorpe in a circle with Hotch, and Hotch was planted in the same spot where Reid had been yesterday. Aaron had almost forgotten Morgan and Garcia were in the house. He had not forgotten that Jack was here though. His son sat on the second floor landing in front of his bedroom, and he was watching them through the railings, his small face serious beyond his years.

"Tell me what happened," Basenthorne said to Hotch. 

“Reid was dreaming. I woke him up.”

“What was he dreaming about?” Kimmy asked. 

“Something that happened to him this summer.” 

“Someone hurt him this summer. He was almost killed.”

“Yes.”

“Except when Dr. Reid was dreaming, he was calling your name,” Kimmy surmised. “He dreams about the man with green eyes often, but this time, he was screaming your name, and you were afraid he was dreaming that you were hurting him.”

“Yes,” Hotch admitted slowly and painfully. 

“Water, water, water. Mariner. That’s him.” 

“Yes,” Hotch nodded again.

“But the thing is, Spencer likes when you hurt him. He knows you’ll never go too far. He knows he can trust you. When you hurt him, you make him feel. You make him feel alive.”

“Kimmy,” Garcia cautioned again. “Too personal.”

“There are times when all Spencer wants to do is sit at your feet and exist only for you and what you want from him, because he loves you that much. He loves that he belongs to you. You scare him, and you make him feel safe, and he’s never had anyone like you in his life. You overwhelm him sometimes.”

“What's your point?” Hotch whispered, mindful that Jack’s eyes were glued to him.

“You complete each other. That’s why you are so good together. He’s as much your master as he is your slave, because as much as he needs you to control him, you need someone who is happy to be controlled.”

“That's enough!” Hotch snapped. 

“So possessive.”

“What?”

“Violet came through when Dr. Reid invited Rebecca to stay, and Violet wants you for her own too. She wants Spencer gone. That's why she attacked him.”

“Who does?” Hotch worried.

“Violet. That’s the woman’s name,” Kimmy said. “Rebecca's mother. She’s here in the house. You’ve felt her too, but you convinced yourself you were dreaming.”

“When?” Hotch gulped.

“Violet has been in bed with you."

Aaron shook his head at Kimmy. “It was a dream,” Hotch protested. 

“ ‘Aaron. Oh Aaron. All is forgiven, my love’,” Basenthorpe whispered. “The problem here is that Violet wants you, and she’s willing to hurt Spencer to have you.” 

“How do I get rid of Violet?”

“We ask her to leave. She's obligated to obey.” 

“What?”

“There are four types of spirits that interact with the physical world: ghosts in transit who never crossed over; ghosts in crisis with work unfinished; ghosts who were traumatized who repeat specific painful events or moments; and ghosts with mischief in their hearts—poltergeists. We have to determine which one of these four Violet is, and burn the right herbs, and ask her to leave.”

“Well, she kinda falls into all four of those categories, doesn’t she?” Garcia interjected. “Violet is here – she hasn’t crossed over.”

“She crossed over and came back,” Morgan reminded her. 

“Well, she’s here now. She’s chasing Rebecca.”

“The first Rebecca,” Kimmy said.

“Or it could be the second Rebecca. Maybe Violet feels that her work is not finished until she’s killed Rebecca 2 like she killed all her other children,” Garcia defended.

“Let’s not forget what she went through herself though,” Kimmy replied. “Violet was traumatized by her husband Aaron, who basically used her for a breeding heifer, and locked her away in her bedroom for years and years until she went entirely insane.”

"Post-partum depression?" Morgan asked Hotch, who gave Morgan a look that said, 'I can't believe you're profiling this spirit like she's an unsub.'

“But Violet loves her husband still, or she wouldn’t be seeking out a surrogate for him, someone with the same name,” Garcia said, eyeballing Hotch, who looked even more stiff and uncomfortable than he had before when Kimmy had stomped so boldly across the essence of his relationship with Reid.

“We have to cleanse the house and close the door again,” Kimmy decided. "Make the spirits leave."

"Wait!” Jack wailed, jumping to his feet and running for the staircase. Hotch tried to get to his feet, but Basenthorpe took his hands and held him in place. Jack ran panting to Hotch and threw himself down. “Dad! It’s not Becky’s fault. You can’t make her go back!”

“Becky?” Hotch questioned his son. “You’ve talked to her?” Hotch realized. 

“All the time,” Jack admitted. “Am I in trouble?” he asked, concerned.

“No,” Hotch shook his head. “It’s okay if you talk to Becky. I wish you would have told me before though.”

“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Jack shrugged.

“Jack, you can tell me anything, and I will always believe you. Okay? It's perfectly normal for kids to have imaginary friends."

"Becky is not imaginary!" Jack exclaimed. Hotch winced. “You can’t make Becky go back. She’s scared of her mom,” Jack insisted.

“How long have you been talking to Becky?” Hotch asked. 

Jack shrugged. "I dunno."

“You’ve been seeing her in the house since you and Reid went into the attic,” Kimmy said.

"Shut up!" Jack shouted at Kimmy, both hands curled into fists. 

“When did you two go in the attic?” Hotch asked.

“The first time I stayed over. You were in Montana. Becky has always been here. She used to hide in the attic because she didn’t like the lady who owned the house before. She’s glad that woman moved. Becky does like Reid though, and she really likes Goody.”

“So, is Becky nice to you?” Hotch wondered.

“Very nice. She likes me. She had a brother named Jack.” 

“What happened to her brother Jack?” Morgan asked.

“Her mother smothered him with a pillow.” 

“Becky told you this?” Hotch questioned.

“She saw it with her own two eyes,” Jack nodded. Hotch shivered. 

“Have you seen Becky’s mother?” he asked Jack.

“Yes. She's got brown hair and scary eyes." 

“Is she nice to you?”

“Not at all,” Jack quivered.

“Oh, baby, has Violet tried to hurt you?” Garcia worried, putting a hand on Jack’s arm.

“She stands at the end of my bed some nights.” 

“What do you do?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t do anything. I go back to sleep.” 

“Aren’t you scared of her?” Morgan asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Mommy won’t let her hurt me,” Jack said simply. Aaron took a deep breath and stared in awe at Jack.

“You’ve seen Mommy too?” Hotch teared up. 

“No. But I know she’s there.”

“How do you know?”

“You said Mommy would always watch out for me. She must be protecting me, right? Because Becky’s mom stands at the end of the bed some nights, but she doesn’t come any closer. So Mommy must be keeping her back. Don’t you think? Even if I can't see Mommy, she's there."

“I'm sure she is,” Hotch nodded, finding a small smile in spite of the lump of emotion in his throat.

“So can Becky stay?” Jack pleaded. 

“Of course,” Hotch assured him.

“Violet is the one who has to go. We’ll make that clear to her,” Kimmy promised.

Above them, the chandelier swayed without warning. Jack’s eyes got wide. Strands of his brown-blond hair started lifting around his head, as though something unseen was breathing on the boy. Hotch's square chin shot skyward, and he growled with venom.

“Back off, bitch.”

Jack's hair fell back into place. The chandelier stilled. It was quiet for a second. Morgan cocked a half-smile.

“You know, Hotch, for someone who doesn’t believe in spirits….” Derek started to say.

A great _something_ grabbed the air and pushed through the dining room, like a rush of wind through an open door, or like wind pushing between two tall, tight buildings in a city block. Jack leapt into Hotch’s arms, hiding against his chest.

“That wasn’t Becky,” Jack whispered when the air calmed down.

“It seems we have Violet’s attention,” Kimmy smiled. “I think we’re ready to begin.”


	12. Chapter 12

“You look tired,” Hotch murmured. He reached over and stroked Reid's hair. They were resting on the couch in the tv room. Jack was asleep upstairs in his room. Goody was purring contentedly on Reid’s lap. The house had been still and quiet the entire day. It smelled strongly of sage and pine, but on a bright note, the paint fumes were gone.

“More scotch?” Reid answered, lifting the cat from his legs and putting him down on the couch in his own place. He rose to his feet and traced across the room. He returned with a bottle and a second glass. He refilled the glass that Hotch had left empty on the coffee table. Spencer poured himself a glass, and took it with as he stretched and walked away again.

Hotch turned off the tv and grabbed his glass. He hurried after Reid. 

“We haven’t talked about what happened last night.”

“No,” came the soft reply as Spencer tested the locks on the front door and made sure they were all secure.

“But every time I touch you, you move away from me,” Aaron said, standing behind Reid and moving his hand over Reid’s hand the door chain. Spencer turned around and leaned on the door. 

“Do I?” he laughed uncomfortably.

“We need to talk,” Aaron whispered.

“No, I don’t think we do,” Spencer decided, ducking under Hotch’s arm and sliding up the stairs. Hotch followed him up and into the map room. Reid picked up two books off the desk and came back out again. He had left his glass of scotch behind.

“Wait. Stop. Okay. Wait,” Aaron said, stopping him in the doorway. “You’re mad. I understand that.”

“Do you?” Reid murmured, giving a hint of an angry smile. 

“Yes.”

“Hotch, let go of me,” Reid murmured, heading into the master bedroom and setting the two books on the settee. “We are not having this conversation.”

“What conversation? This isn’t a conversation. This is you sulking and refusing to talk to me.”

“You want to talk?” Reid whirled with a sudden intensity that made Hotch stop in his tracks.

“I want to talk to you, yes.”

“I have nothing to say except this. If you ever put me in the hospital again, and let someone drug me quiet, and buckle me down in restraints, you will be damned lucky if I never speak to you again.”

“I’m sorry. I know that pushes buttons for you. I know. I get that.” “Do it again, and you will get it, believe you me,” Spencer menaced. “I understand why you’re mad.”

“No, Hotch. No, you don’t. You haven’t got the first idea.” 

“It was only overnight.”

“It was twelve hours and twenty seven minutes, and you will never ever do it to me again. Is that clear?”

“I won’t,” Aaron promised. “But there are extenuating circumstances here….”

“There are no extenuating circumstances in this world which will allow you to go that far, ever. If you ever put me under lock and key again, so help me….”

Hotch finished his scotch and set the glass on a small table by the bedroom door. Reid pushed past Hotch and left the bedroom, heading for the bathroom. Out of the corner of his eyes, Aaron saw that Goodfoot was up on the dining table below. He was watching Reid, and he was watching the chandelier.

“I was trying to protect you,” Hotch called out, following Reid towards the bathroom. Spencer came back again, stopping face to face with Aaron.

“From myself?” he hissed. 

“From Violet.”

“Don’t worry about her. If she shows herself again, I’ll be ready.”

“For now, whatever Dr. Basenthorpe did seems to be working. The only angry spirit in the house right at the moment is you.”

“You don’t like me this way, do you?” Reid asked. 

“Angry? No. You don’t do angry very well.”

“You haven’t seen me truly angry. You’ve only seen me vexed, annoyed, perturbed.”

“You seem pretty angry right now.”

“I was attacked by a murderous poltergeist, and you had me committed!” Reid hissed between clenched teeth, mindful that Jack was sleeping but a few feet away.

“You stayed in the hospital overnight. And you were the damn fool who let her in in the first place.”

“No, I invited a scared and lonely child in.”

“And Violet followed her. So stop snapping at me. This is not my fault, and I am doing my best to apologize to you.”

Reid growled and made the most snarly face. It was the cutest thing Aaron had ever seen in his life. It was all he could do to pull back his grin of amusement. Aaron's smile disappeared as fast as it had showed, but it made Reid's temper skyrocket even higher.

“What the fuck?! No. No! Not even. You do not get to erase this with a fucking apology. Don't you dare smile at me! You fucking had me fucking committed. I’m fucking angry at you, and I’m going to be fucking angry at you for a very long fucking time.”

“How about an apology and a bit of nookie?” Hotch persuaded, teasing a hand down Reid’s chest to his waist.

“NO!” Reid exclaimed. Behind him, the chandelier went into motion again. “Violet, stay out of this!” Spencer turned around and shouted.

“It’s not Violet. You’re probably yelling at Becky. Just so you know, I'm taking that damned chandelier down, first thing tomorrow morning,” Aaron decided, tugging Reid by one hand into the bedroom.

“Stop this. I’m angry at you,” Spencer warned. Hotch pulled him close and touched his lips with a kiss. “No. I’m mad at you. I don’t want kisses. I don't want... mm... oh.... I....”

Aaron purred in his throat, nosing Spencer’s neck, cupping his ass with both hands and gnawing on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna bite you if you kiss me again," Reid warned even though his breathing was becoming rapid and shivery.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,” Hotch teased, dotting Reid’s neck playfully. Spencer almost smiled.

“Aaron Hotchner, there is no amount of nookie in the world that will make up for letting someone strap me down and drug me to sleep. Are we clear on that?”

“Mm hmm. Crystal clear,” Aaron promised, easing Spencer back against the bed and carefully undoing his buttons. Hotch kissed his way over healing scratches and latched onto one nipple as he knelt down on the floor and spread Spencer’s long legs apart. He pulled off one shoe and then the other. He kissed his way up one leg, nosing gently up his chest, and kneeling over him on the bed.

"Why are you smiling?" Reid whispered, his angry outburst dissolving as Hotch nuzzled his mouth, then his cheek.

"You don't do angry well, but you are so fucking cute when you're furious," Hotch whispered back, chuckling mischievously.


	13. Chapter 13

Epilogue

 

"How was everyone's weekend?" JJ asked cheerfully from the front of the conference table on Monday morning.

Rossi was the only one who smiled back. Prentiss looked distant and troubled. Morgan looked sheepish. Garcia giggled as if she wanted to answer, but then she ducked nervously when Hotch shot her a dark look. Reid took a sip of coffee, looking crabby and sleepless.

"Don't even ask," Hotch advised.

"Okay then. How about a nice mystery to cheer you up?" Jareau proposed, clicking the remote and throwing a dead corpse on screen behind herself. "Michael Allan Medford. 27. Found dead this morning in Quincy, Massachusetts, just outside Boston."

"What the hell is he wearing?" Morgan asked. Maybe it said a lot about this team if when shown a fresh corpse, they were more apt to notice the odd wardrobe than the gaping holes in the unfortunate young man's chest.

"Scottish kilt with full regalia," Reid answered, brows rising, face awash with curiosity. He sipped noisily from his mug.

"He is the third man in as many years to wind up dead in Quincy, wearing a costume," JJ said.

"What were the other costumes?" Prentiss wondered.

"So glad you asked," JJ sighed, clicking her remote again. "A sea pirate. And a colonial American soldier." 

"But wait, there's more?" Rossi hoped.

"A Scotsman, a pirate, and a colonial soldier?" Garcia questioned. 

"Yes," JJ answered.

"At the risk of revealing way too much about my private reading habits, am I imagining things, or is that a perfect trifecta of leading men for romance novels?" Prentiss asked. Hotch, Morgan, and Rossi stared at Emily as if she had lost her mind. Garcia leapt up to the front of her seat with rapt interest.

"Oh my god! Sarah Hartshorn!" 

"Who?" Prentiss said.

"You had to have read her novels!" Garcia exclaimed. 

"She's had a string of best-selling romance novels. She's had leading men that fit all of those descriptions."

"Well, the lead detective in Quincy apparently has read Hartshorn's work," JJ said. "She wants to bring the author in from Boston for questioning in relation to these murders, and she's asked our help in conducting the interview."

"Why does she need our help?" Hotch asked.

"Sarah Hartshorn is chiraptophobic?" JJ looked towards Reid as she said the word, and Reid's eyes nearly popped out.

"The main suspect in a series of three murders has a phobia about being touched?" he goggled at JJ.

"If she's afraid of touch, how'd she kill them?" Morgan wondered. "You'd have to touch them to kill them, am I right?"

"I don't know about victim 1 or victim 2, but as for victim 3, Mr. Medford, if you're going to use a two-handed, double-edged broadsword to kill him, you're going to have to get close enough to touch him," Reid replied, cackling happily to himself and making Prentiss shiver.

"How the hell do you know what he was killed with?" she demanded. Reid pointed at the exaggerated picture of the victim on the screen, sipping coffee again, not bothering to explain.

"How did victim 1 die?" Morgan asked.

"He was drowned," JJ answered. "Victim 2 was killed with a musket." 

"Are you serious? So each manner of death fits the time frame of the character the victim is dressed as?" Reid was wide awake now, absolutely  
sparkling with nervous energy and anxiousness.

"Guess we'll be flying to Boston?" Rossi asked, folding up his file. 

"Wheels up in thirty," Hotch agreed.


End file.
